


Suijin

by HamHamHeaven



Series: Shinkai [1]
Category: 9GOATS BLACK OUT, Jrock, Liphlich (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Anthropomorphic, Breathplay, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Non-binary character, Sounding, Temperature Play, personification of water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-11-30 02:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11453670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamHamHeaven/pseuds/HamHamHeaven
Summary: Ryou had shown an affinity for the water his entire life.  No one else loved The River like he did, and no one could ever love him the way The River did in return.





	Suijin

**Author's Note:**

> For the DW vkyaoi community July 2017 challenge - incorporating water as a major element. The initial inspiration for the story was the Greek myth of [Narcissus](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Narcissus_\(mythology\)), who fell in love with his own reflection, but as usual, things went off kilter. (Suijin (水神) is the Shinto water god. Nothing of his mythos got brought into the story; I just borrowed his name.) And it wasn't until after the story was completed that the muses actually volunteered for the roles, so this is the crackest of crack pairings.  
> 

“I swear that boy has river water in his veins!”

Ryou had heard such exclamations his entire life, but since they were never meant as insults, he didn’t bother denying them.

His grandmother loved to sit next to the hearth at the centre of the house his late grandfather had built with his own two hands, watching the bees buzzing back and forth in the garden beyond, waiting on the kettle to boil, and reliving Ryou’s childhood with stories that always began “Do you remember when we took you to the river, and”. 

He’d been told stories of his affinity for the water almost longer than he could recall.  Accounts of how he had learned to swim before any of the other children, even those twice his age.  Of how he had fallen into the river when he was still barely old enough to crawl; how all of the neighbours and extended family had searched for him in a panic only to discover him hours later, paddling around in the shallows a kilometre or so downstream.  How he had, in fact, burst into tears when his father scooped him up and began towelling him off, reaching plaintively for the water to continue his play.  And the sudden torrential downpour they’d been caught in as they carried him back to the house.

His grandfather’s house was where he lived, but the river was his home: his sense of peace and contentment.  He knew every drop of it.  He had followed it up out of the valley to its source amid the snowy peaks of the mountains.  He had run with it far out past the village, met by other streams and tributaries until they finally reached the ocean.  The ocean was beautiful and wild and made his heart pound with joy, but it was the river – _his_ river – that called to him day and night.

From March to November, anyone wondering where Ryou had disappeared to need only wander along the riverbank until they found him.  If he wasn’t _in_ the river, he was _on_ it, drifting along in a small boat he’d cajoled his father into helping him build, or _next to_ it, sprawled out on some rocky outcropping at the water’s edge.  He did his homework there; he practiced his guitar playing there; he ate as many meals as his grandmother would permit there. Sometimes even in the bitter cold of mid-winter, he would sneak out for an hour or two to satisfy his yearning, returning to his grandmother’s sharp reproach with cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. 

There was no denying it; the river was in his veins.

 

Nineteen-year old Ryou lay on a sun-heated rock overhanging his river, gazing lazily out across the water.  The river ran deep and cold here, glassy smooth façade concealing a powerful current.  It was one of his favourite spots to dream, isolated and undisturbed.  A spot he didn’t have to share with anyone else.  No one else loved the river like he did; no one else understood it.

A brief flash of silver darted across the corner of his vision, and he turned over onto his belly, chin propped on his arms, to scan the crystal water in search of the fish that must be swimming nearby.  Yet all he saw was his reflection: long hair, narrow nose, pale lips, half-lidded eyes staring back at him.  Eyes saturated with… lust?

 _Was that really the way he looked now?_   So sensual?  So debauched?Or were there other eyes staring up at him from beneath the surface?

He leaned over for a closer look.  The face was like his; the eyes were too, although they seemed darker, greener than his.  A trick of the light against the water, right?  He watched as the tip of a tongue flicked out to wet the reflections lips.  Or was it to whet his appetite?  He swallowed hard.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, bending even nearer to the image in the water.

 _So beautiful_ , the reflection whispered back to him.

Its lips puckered as if waiting for a kiss. It never occurred to him that wanting to kiss his own reflection was strange.  Never crossed his mind that he ought to be careful, that he might be tipping out too far.  All he could think was how much he wanted to touch that person gazing so thirstily up at him.

_And why shouldn’t he!_

Without a second thought, he gave in, pressing his mouth to the water.

Cool, wet lips moved tantalizingly against his, parting for his tongue to dip in and entwine with another.  He groaned into the water below, eyes fluttering closed as he relinquished himself fully to the sensation.

 _More.  I want more.  Need to touch.  Feel_.

He reached down into the river, fingers brushing against something that felt like arms.  Arms that were shifting upward, outward.  Encircling him and drawing him down.  Down.

_Down!_

His eyes flew open as his lungs filled with water, and he flailed wildly, grabbing at nothing in an effort to propel himself back up.  His head went light, sparks flashing behind his eyes, at the suddenness of it all.  Something gave him a gentle shove from below.  Or perhaps it was just natural buoyancy at work.  Seconds later, he broke through the surface in a rainbow shower of tiny droplets, gasping and coughing to expel the liquid from his lungs in favour of air.  He kicked his legs feebly, using the last bits of adrenaline surging through him to keep himself afloat as the current carried him toward the bank where he could crawl back onto the rocks. 

Ryou lay half in half out of the water, eyes closed and chest heaving.  The river lapped at his legs gently, and the water from his hair ran in rivulets along his spine, like a caressing apology.

“I… I’m… o-okay,” he wheezed to no one, wiggling his fingers a little in the water as if to prove that they still worked.

The river beneath his hand began to warm, twirling and twisting around his hand in reply.  He remained unmoving, weary and half-dazed, allowing the flow to play with his fingers teasingly, until the sound of his grandmother calling his name roused him.

“Guess that means I have to get up,” he muttered.

Slowly, he dragged himself up and out of the river, staring down at himself to see what damage he needed to explain away.  No buttons missing, thank goodness.  No cuts or scrapes.  Just sopping wet clothes.  Well, that was hardly the first time he’d gone for an impromptu swim, though by now he’d learned to leave his garments on the shore to avoid this sort of sodden mess.  Grandmother would just have to scold him for it this time, though; he wasn’t about to tell her he’d fallen in while kissing….

_Who was it that he’d been kissing?_

His eyes flitted out over the water, searching.

It certainly hadn’t felt like a one-sided activity.  In fact, it _felt_ like… but that was impossible.  Wasn’t it?

“Ryou!” his grandmother called, more insistent this time.

Whoever or whatever it was he’d felt, they would have to wait.  With one last regretful look, he hurried away from the river back toward the house.  If he had turned around, he might have seen a pair of glistening green eyes peering out at him from the shadows along the opposite bank.

 

That night, Ryou dreamt he stood at the base of a waterfall – his favourite waterfall in the river about four hours’ hike away.  Behind it, in the gloomy cave carved out by aeons of rain and melted snow flowing along the stony face of the mountain, something waited for him.  Beckoned him in a mesmerizing, liquid voice, like the soft murmur of the stream through the reeds.

_Come to me.  Come to me, Love._

He waded forward, slipping and stumbling in the inky black water and silvery moonlight-drenched spray.  Lost in the mist, the dream became a dark swirl of sounds and sensations –cold hands or warm water pouring over him, tickling his flesh until he could barely stand.

_Come for me._

He awakens to the rain beating a gentle cadence on the tiled roof, and tiny beads of moisture clinging to his lips and lashes.  The voice echoes in his mind like the sound of the waterfall reverberating off the stones.

_Come to me._

He had a bag packed for hiking and was just a few strides away from the gate when his grandmother stopped him.

“Just where do you think you’re going in such weather?” she chastises.  “You may be all water, but that doesn’t mean you can’t catch a cold from running around in the rain.”

“B-but!” he protests, even as she shoves him back toward the house.

“No ‘buts’.  Your precious river can wait.”

How could he explain?  Convince his grandmother that the river could _not_ wait.  That it summoned him.  That he needed to _go_.

He sulked all day, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger, going to the window every few minutes to see if the downpour was going to let up.  If the dark clouds might pass over so that he could finally, _finally_ make his escape.  To his frustrations, the shower continued throughout the day and most of the night.

A restless night.

The dream returned, hypnotic voice urging him to _come_ , and when Ryou woke to the first rays of sunlight creeping over the horizon, he dashed out of the house and away from his dozing grandmother as quickly as his slender frame would carry him.  Not until he was deep in the cover of the underbrush did he allow himself to relax and follow the familiar path alongside the river at a more sensible pace.  It was late morning before he reached his destination.  

The waterfall was just as he remembered it.  The chilly spray of thawed snow run-off mingled with the balmy post-rain humidity to form gossamer plumes of mist at the base of the small cliff.  The trees and shrubs along the bank formed a leafy sun-dappled cocoon, shielding it from all except the birds and insects.

 _Just like the dreams_ , he thought, soaking up the untamed beauty.

Except not _quite_ like his dreams.  Something stirred in the darkness beyond the waterfall, and before he could decide whether he ought to hide or run away, a human figure emerged.  Materialized?  In all the years Ryou had been visiting the waterfall, he’d never seen another person nearby. 

No, _not_ a person.  The creature was far too perfect for that.  Tall and slim as a willow root with a mass of wavy black hair cascading over its bare shoulders down to where its waist disappeared beneath the watery foam.  And those same dark green eyes that had tempted Ryou from the depths of the river.

_Who was this mysterious being?  How had it come here?_

He dropped his bag, tossing his shoes and socks and shirt aside, and waded into the water.  Icy prickles jabbed at his feet, sending a shiver through him.  But it wasn’t a shiver from the cold.  No, there was pleasure in the pain he felt.

A smile twitched at the corner of the being’s lips.

Suddenly, the water around Ryou turned warm, like the shallows on a mid-summer afternoon.  That shouldn’t have been possible; there were no hot springs nearby.  But he ventured forward without stopping to consider how or why.  The current seemed to press him onward, balancing him no matter how often he lost his footing on the slimy rocks.  Waist-deep now, he stopped, staring up at the being before him, blinking repeatedly against the spray, so uncertain whether he was actually seeing or just imagining.

“I feared you would not come,” it murmured, extending a hand toward him.  “Does this mean you’ve forgiven me?”

Ryou cocked his head in confusion, but accepted the hand.  Its touch was cool and smooth as a river rock.

“Forgiven you?”

“For nearly drowning you,” it explained as it drew him closer.  “You mortal creatures are so fragile, and I was thoughtless in my passion for you.”

“So… it was you who kissed me then,” Ryou deduced, cheeks heating at the memory of the intimacy he’d shared with someone who was, in a way, a complete stranger.

The being twined an arm around his waist possessively.

“I am no stranger,” it denied his silent misconception.  “You have known me and loved me your entire existence.  ‘ _My_ river’, do you not call me?”

“ _You_ are the river?”

What an absurd idea!  Yet somehow it made perfect sense.

“Grandmother always claimed that this river was home to the goddess Wataru.” 

A low chuckle bubbled within its chest.

“Now there’s a name I’ve not answered to in ages.  Sounds lovely on your tongue, though.”

“But… you’re male… aren’t you?” asked Ryou, perplexed.

The deity smirked at him, brushing a kiss against his cheek.

“Water takes the form of whatever shape it’s poured into, Love.  Besides, would you _want_ me to appear as a goddess?  I had gotten the impression you preferred the males of your species.”

Ryou blushed right to his ears.  The few intimate encounters he’d had with other young men had all taken place near the water’s edge.  Had the river been watching him?

“N-no,” he admitted.  “I wouldn’t want you to be a goddess.”

Wataru nodded and tilted his chin up until their eyes met.

“Forgive me my carelessness, Precious One?”

“I forgive you,” he replied at once.  “Only…”

“Only what, Love?”

“Only… why did you kiss me?”

The water god frowned a little, tightening its hold.

“Did you not enjoy it?”

“I did,” he hastily reassured.  “It was the most amazing kiss of my life.  I just don’t understand why… you chose me.”

“You chose _me_ , Love,” it reminded him.  “It was _you_ that bent down to shower me with affection, not the other way around.  Not that I minded.  I’ve been watching and waiting for you for so many seasons.”

“I’m sorry,” Ryou apologized, stepping closer into the embrace.  “If I had realized….”

“How about instead of saying you’re sorry, you kiss me again,” Wataru boldly suggested.

That sounded like the perfect idea.  Eagerly, Ryou wrapped his arms around its neck, lifting himself out of the water a bit in order to reconnect their lips.  And the connection was magnificent: slow, sensual, rippling through every sensitive nerve in his body.  If he had tried to describe it, he might have said it was like drowning in love. 

It didn’t matter that the water was taller, stronger, more powerful than he was.  The deity’s shape morphed around him, moulding itself to his every dip and curve, cradling him securely and heating until it felt just like living flesh.  Flesh formed specifically for him.

“H-how are you doing this?” he panted, fingers tangling in his lover’s dripping tresses.

“I am the river,” it murmured against his skin.  “I take many forms.  I can be as sharp as ice or as gentle as the mist.  Whatever you crave.” 

As if to prove its point, frosty shards once again stung his skin, this time over the sensitive flesh of his nipples.  He gasped at the pleasure the touch produced.

“I could drown you, or carry you wherever my waters flow.  I can enfold you.”

A warm eddy swirled through his legs and around his growing arousal.

“Surround you.”

The flow increased, spinning with ever tightening pressure around the base, while a thin jet teased the slit.

“Fill you.”

Something firm prodded at him from behind even as the stream slid further into his shaft, slowly pressing him open from both ends.  He moaned, head thrown back to float in the aqueous arms holding him.  Water trickled up over his lips, into his mouth.  He sucked at the fluid tendril that twisted and fondled his tongue.

“Swallow me,” it bade him.

And he did, drinking the water down in eager gulps.

“You have never known anything like me,” it whispered in his ear, “And no lover will ever satisfy you like I can.”

Water flowed into him, out of him – alternately frigid and steaming.  Powerful currents held him steady, stroking him inside and out, while strong leg-like limbs wrapped around his torso and drew him further into the warm, wet sheath encasing him, and cool, inviting lips devoured his.  Inundating him in wave upon wave of desire.

Wataru was right; none of Ryou’s other lovers had ever made him feel so much pleasure.  So much need!  

He could see nothing but the deep green of the hypnotic eyes before him, could hear nothing but the rushing of water over rock. 

So adored.  So _possessed_. 

He couldn’t breathe, but it didn’t matter.

 _Please!_ he wordlessly begged.  _Please give it all to me._

His mysterious lover abruptly retreated from his throat, and he let out a hoarse cry of pain-infused bliss as he spent himself into the frothy river.  His vision blackened as the pleasure crashed over him, and something hot and viscous flooded into him.  He clung to the arms encircling him, even as he vaguely felt himself drifting down.  Down.

Down.

 

_Come back to me, Love._

 

Slowly, sensation crept back into his world: the early-evening drone of cicadas, the rustle of the breeze through tree branches, the gurgle of his river.

_Wataru!_

He sat up far too quickly, grabbing his head when dizziness overcame him.  Once the disorientation had subsided, he glanced around.  He was back on the outcropping of rock where he’d first received the river’s kiss – more than a dozen kilometres away from the waterfall.  His bag rested against the base of a nearby tree with the clothing he’d discarded.  Ryou looked around, confused.

_How did I get here?  How long was I unconscious?  Did I… dream it all?_

The idea of having simply imagined the encounter made his heart sink in despair.  No one could ever love the river like he did, nor could anyone love him the way the river had in return.  If it was all just fantasy….

The loud splash of something heavy hitting the water drew his attention.  Quickly, he crawled toward the edge, gazing down into the shadow-covered depths.  Two dark green eyes observed him from below.

 _Never fear, my Love,_ a voice in his mind said.  _The River is always here, and all you need to do to find me is look._

**Author's Note:**

>  **1)** I am aware that most non-binary or gender-fluid persons would not take kindly to the pronoun "it". I have chosen to use "it" in this context specifically to reinforce the idea that this is an elemental sort of being rather than a person. No offense is intended.  
>  **2)** My water god(dess)  
>   
>  渉 actually means "ford", "ferry", or "port", so there's definitely a water connection. And there are various other ways to spell "Wataru" that can be feminine as well, in keeping with his "gender-free" philosophy.  
>  **3)** The kanji Ryou uses for his stage name 漾 means "drift" or "flow", so that seems just perfect for a river's lover. He's a good 13cm shorter than Wataru, bless him.  
>   
>  **4)** The waterfall I envisioned was something akin to [Ryuuzu Falls](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/df/Ryuzu_no_taki.jpg) in Tochigi Prefecture. Actual river water is NOT sanitary. No one in his right mind should drink or have sex in (or with) river water.  
>  **5)** This is probably the closest I will ever come to writing tentacle porn, but I don't think it warrants being tagged as such. If you disagree with me, write me a convincing explanation why, and I'll think about adding the tag.  
> 


End file.
